


Inhuman Decency

by Laylah



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-28
Updated: 2009-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They catch up to him before he’s even reached the highway itself. He keeps stopping, squinting up at the waxing light of Kagutsuchi, and then limping on. He’s lucky that none of the demons wandering around here have taken an interest in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhuman Decency

There’s a soul loitering outside Ikebukuro, drifting aimlessly, like it’s watching the life be sucked out of the city. Its ghostly face stretches in what might be surprise when Naoki approaches with his demons following. “Another?” it says, and then, “Ah, no, my mistake.”

“Another what?” Naoki asks.

“A human passed by here just a little while ago,” the soul answers. “I warned him not to take the highway! There’s a strong demon out there, riding up and down the highway on patrol. But he went in that direction anyway.”

How many humans could there be in the Vortex World? “Thanks,” Naoki says, and turns south toward the rising slope of the freeway on ramp.

“Weren’t you listening?” the soul complains, as he walks away. “It’s dangerous!”

Everything is dangerous, since the Conception. Naoki keeps walking. The fine sand under his feet shifts and slides, unstable footing. His calves ache, and he wonders how Isamu’s managing—Naoki at least played a little soccer in school. Isamu was always too cool to work that hard.

They catch up to him before he’s even reached the highway itself. He keeps stopping, squinting up at the waxing light of Kagutsuchi, and then limping on. He’s lucky that none of the demons wandering around here have taken an interest in him.

Not that he’s in decent shape without them, either. He stumbles, collapses to his knees in the sand. Naoki motions for his demons to stay back, and walks up the last fifteen meters by himself.

“Come to gloat?” Isamu says when Naoki stops. He doesn’t look up.

“No,” Naoki says. He holds out one hand, and waits. Isamu can be stubborn sometimes.

Not this time, though. His fingers are cool, clenching around Naoki’s hand. “Don’t need your help,” he says, and when Naoki hauls him to his feet his knees buckle almost instantly. Was he always so lightweight?

Naoki beckons to his demons; he can’t fight carrying someone else, and he doesn’t know any healing spells himself. “What would help?” he asks. “I have life stones.”

“Out of the light,” Isamu says. “It makes me sick when it gets this bright.”

“Sick?” Naoki asks. He has to duck his head to see under the brim of Isamu’s hat, to see how glazed Isamu’s eyes are, how pale he’s gotten.

He does his best to glare at Naoki, though. “Because I’m still human.”

“I’m human,” Naoki protests, even though nobody seems to think so but him. His demons are approaching, loping or slinking or floating across the sand, and he hoists Isamu’s arm over his shoulders and takes the first step toward the shadow of the underpass.

It’s cool there, in the dark under the bare arching concrete, and some of his demons hold back. They’re bad with the cold, Naoki realizes. “Taraka, Nozochi,” he says, “stand guard out there. I want to rest here for a while.” Taraka’s black lips curl in a smile, like she doesn’t think much of him stopping, but she knows better than to challenge him. He helps Isamu ease down to sit under the ramp. It’s sort of ironic, if that’s the right word. They grew up always knowing, distantly, that these elevated sweeping roads would buckle and crumble if a big earthquake hit — and now the entire world’s ended, but the highway still stands.

“What’s so funny?” Isamu asks.

Naoki looks down, smiling sheepishly. “Nothing,” he says. He sits down cross-legged across from Isamu, his hands on his knees. “Do you feel better? Do you want healing?”

Isamu looks over at the other demons that have been following Naoki around. “From one of them?” he says.

“Kikuri-hime,” Naoki says, and the princess drifts delicately toward them. “Heal my friend.”

“As you command, my master,” she murmurs, and Naoki watches her extend her hand in blessing so that he won’t have to meet Isamu’s eyes, because he’s _sure_ Isamu would have something to say about a demon calling him that. Even a demon as pretty as Kikuri-hime.

The shimmering green light of her Dia fills the air, crisp-smelling like freshly broken bamboo. It’s soothing even when it’s not really directed at him, and Naoki takes a deep, slow breath.

“Damn,” Isamu says. “No wonder you look so relaxed, if you can get that done to you any time you want.”

Naoki shrugs, looks back at Isamu, just barely remembers to say, “That’s all I needed right now,” so Kikuri-hime won’t just hover there and wait for his next orders. “Yeah, it does sort of help. A lot.” If he looks closely, he can see the flow of magatsuhi in Isamu’s limbs, the pulse of glowing red. If he has any of that in his own body, he can’t feel it. Maybe it’s like scents, where you notice other people’s much more than your own.

Maybe it’s that he really isn’t human after all.

“Better now?” he asks, instead of thinking about that any harder.

Isamu nods. “Done your good deed for the day?” He glances out toward the sky, the cool light of Kagutsuchi. “If we still have days, I don’t even know.”

“I guess we don’t, really,” Naoki says. New Kagutsuchi is as close to dark as it gets in the Vortex World, and even then it isn’t really like _night_.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Isamu says. The flow of his magatsuhi changes, like whirlpools rippling through a stream, little focused tides pulling downward.

Naoki thinks of the old lady with the veil, the little blond boy staring at him in silence. _Make things interesting for my master_. “Whatever we feel like, I guess,” he says. “You can’t go anywhere until Kagutsuchi’s waning again, right? But after that –” He shrugs.

“How can you be so calm about it?” Isamu demands, and his voice cracks. “I want to go _home_.”

“Me too,” Naoki says. He rocks forward onto his knees, crawls across the eroded cement between them to pull Isamu into his arms. It’s probably weird and he’s pretty sure it’s not cool, but who’s going to say so? Isamu stiffens in his arms for a second, and then lets Naoki hold onto him, slumping into it. His hands are icy, his fingers digging into Naoki’s back, holding on too tight.

No wonder the Mantra didn’t want to give him up, Naoki thinks. This close up it’s dizzying just breathing in the scent of all that magatsuhi, new and flowing freely, easy to draw off — and Naoki pushes that thought away, deliberately. It’s the demon in him that wants that, and he figures Isamu has had more than enough of demons.

He turns his head just a little, and he can smell little traces of ordinary things, the laundry detergent in Isamu’s shirt, the shampoo in his hair. It feels good to be this close, and that’s human, isn’t it? He presses his lips to the soft dry skin of Isamu’s neck.

Isamu flinches back a little. “Is that more demon stuff?” he says. His eyes are sort of silvery, like he’s hiding light somewhere inside him.

Naoki shakes his head, just a little, and waits for Isamu’s shoulders to relax, for Isamu’s scent to lose its sharpness. Then he tilts his head, slowly like he’s seen it in the movies, and shifts until his lips press Isamu’s gently. It’s a soft kiss, and it lasts about as long as a breath — and then Isamu pulls away, laughing a little. It’s not good laughing, though, from the way his eyes are wide and his magatsuhi sputters and flares.

“I guess now’s the time, if you’re going to, huh?” he says. “I mean, I’m the last man on earth, right?”

You are not, Naoki could say. He doesn’t want to argue. “That’s not why,” he says instead. When things get fixed up, when they get home — when there’s a home to go back to — maybe he’ll try to explain more. For now he leans in for another kiss, and Isamu doesn’t pull away.

They twine their limbs together, stretched out on the concrete there in the shadow of the ruined highway, and mostly Isamu just holds on while Naoki touches them both. _It’s going to be okay_ , he promises, as they learn a rhythm that’ll work for both of them. Isamu’s fingers dig into his shoulders, and Isamu’s breath is warm and human in the hollow of his throat. _We’ll figure this out. We’ll make it home._ By the time Isamu is shuddering under him, back arching and eyes closed against the near-pain of coming, Naoki is almost sure he believes it.


End file.
